One for the Team
by micbb
Summary: When Jack hires a young, new weapons expert to his Torchwood branch in New York, it's not only his life that will change, and the secrets that are revealed in the aftermath will spell trouble for more than just Rose Tyler.
1. Chapter 1

**Not a hundred percent sure about this story, but I'd like some feedback and see if people are interested. Remember to R &R and let me know. **

"Come on, John," Jack whined at his roommate, who ignored him as he closed the closed the fridge, a soda in hand and a worn book in the other, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose and his eyes focused on the words. As John went to walk away, Jack purposefully stepped in front of him repeatedly until his roommate lifted his gaze to glare at him.

John let out an annoyed huff. "I already said no," he said, bringing his gaze back to the massive literary work in front of him. "I have better things to do."

Jack snorted in contempt, rolling his eyes at John. "Read that book for the millionth time? Please? It took me ages to convince my coworker to come, I don't have the energy to convince you anymore."

"Good, so you're giving up, then?" John said with a small smirk, trying again to step around Jack, who once again blocked his path. John grunted in annoyance and snapped the book closed, and he whipped his glasses off his nose to glare at Jack, who simply smiled in response. "Fine," John growled before transferring his glasses to the top of his head and pointing threateningly at his old friend. "But for one hour. That's it."

Jack grinned and clapped John's shoulder, pleased with his success. It was rare that he managed to convince John to leave the apartment, or his office on the days where John stayed at the university late into the evenings. As he'd told John, he'd also managed to convince his new coworker to join him at the bar, one he was very excited for John to meet, but his recluse flat mate was a difficult to persuade.

"Ready?" Jack called to John a few hours later, waiting by the door so they could walk to the bar together. John came out of his room, half hopping as he tied the laces of his favourite shoes – a pair of red converse that made Jack roll his eyes. John was so predictable. Jack was thankful, however, that John had bypassed his usual brown pin-stripped suit in favour of old jeans and a Captain America t-shirt. The hood was the only part of his sweater that was visible, the rest hidden by his black pea coat. Jack grinned approvingly, to which John rolled his eyes, and the two of them left the apartment, John grumbling the whole walk down.

The misty almost-rain of New York made John glare in annoyance at Jack, as though it was his fault, and Jack cheerfully ignored him and the mist, whistling a familiar tune he couldn't remember from where he'd gotten it. John reacted by hunching his shoulders against the rain, mumbling to himself. He sighed in relief when they entered the bar, which was jam packed, but Ianto, Gwen, Toshiko and Owen waved them over to a corner booth. Jack nodded in greeting, a smile on his face, and grabbed John by the elbow, leading him toward the group of Jack's coworkers.

They squeezed in, settling in as best they could, and Gwen immediately began to chat to Jack about work. John pulled off his coat and unzipped his sweater, smiling at Ianto, who gave him a slight smile in return before taking a swing of his beer.

"So John," Gwen said, turning her smile in John's direction. "How long have you been in New York?"

"About two months." John replied with a small smile. "Got offered a position NYU, couldn't turn it down, not when I wasn't getting a better position back in London."

"London?" Owen cut in. "Our new weapons expert is from London."

"I'd heard that," John nodded to the other man before turning to raise his eyebrows at Jack, who was looking particularly innocent. "He must really be something if you brought him all the way from London. The continental US not have a good enough selection for you, Captain?"

Owen whistled. "Oh, _she_ is something, let me tell you that." He said appreciatively, his eyes glazing over as he seemed to picture the mysterious weapons expert in his mind.

"Hey," Jack scolded, a frown on his face. "Watch it." He told his medic. John frowned. Jack tended to be a master of innuendos and flirtations; there was no reaching too far, no being too bold, and certainly no limits on who would be subject to his flirtatious smirk, and it didn't tend to bother him to watch other flirts either. His atypical behaviour had John confused. Who on earth had the power to get Jack to act so defensively? Owen seemed to be eyeing him with the same sort of confusion.

Conversation carried on as usual after that, with the exception of Jack, who was watching the door attentively, barely concealing his excitement at the prospect of his new team member joining them. John was checking his watch every few minutes, his knee shaking impatiently, his hour at the bar passing painfully slowly. As much as he liked Jack's coworkers, he really didn't want to be out tonight. He wanted to be in bed, settled comfortably, a steaming cup of tea on his bedside table, his glasses on his nose and his mind being taken on another adventure by his book, his trusty book.

Jack's face suddenly spit into a wide grin and John followed his gaze, his eyes falling onto a pretty blonde who'd just stepped into the bar. She was untying her scarf and gazing around the bar with wide eyes. When she found the group, her wide mouth pulled into a heart-stopping smile and she made her way over to them. She hung her coat on the coat hanger near by and pulled down her sleeves, her eyes scanning the group until they fell on John's coat. She held out her hand and flicked her fingers. "Give me your coat." She told him.

"What?" He replied dumbly, blinking at her in confusion. Jack hid a smile behind his palm.

Her smile grew and she flicked her fingers again. "Your coat." She repeated. "I'll hang it up for you." She nodded her head toward the coat rack. Wordlessly, he passed his coat to her, and she hung it up next to hers. "Okay," she clapped her hands together, looking over the table again before smiling up at them. "Next round's on me."

"I'll help you carry them." John said, standing from his seat on the end of the bench and moving to her side.

She smiled at him, her liquid-honey eyes meeting his chocolate brown. "'Kay." She said, and then walked toward the counter with him on her heels.

Jack grinned and leaned forward in his seat, watching the two of them walk together. He'd noticed John's expression when Rose had caught his eyes. He was smitten, just as he'd known his roommate would be.

He'd met Rose about a week ago, when she'd turned up at Torchwood accompanied by her Brigadier. She'd admired their sleep offices while her superior talked with Jack in his office, practically begging the Torchwood leader to take the young woman, who apparently, was far to curious to continue working at UNIT.

" _She'd be perfect for you here," the man told her, "she's independent and clever, and she can sort out just about any alien technology. Don't ask me how, but give her half an hour with the thing and she knows what it is and how it works."_

" _You want me to take the operative you can't use," Jack blinked up at the man, his expression blank._

" _UNIT is military, Captain Harkness," the brigadier told him tersely. "As brilliant as she is, she's not cut out for military."_

" _That's not how that works," Rose's voice interrupted them. The brigadier moaned in annoyance and left the office to search for his overcurious ward, Jack on his heels. They found the young blonde standing, arms behind her back, looking at Owen, who was fumbling awkwardly with a piece of alien technology. "And you've assembled it backwards." She said drily, as though he'd poorly constructed a model airplane._

 _The medic shot her an irritated look. "I can figure it out, thanks." He snapped at her._

 _She snorted. "No, you can't." she extended her arm and flicked her fingers at him. Owen looked at Jack in disbelief, who, incredibly curious at this point, nodded. Owen resentfully handed over the instrument, and the young blonde made quick work of moving around pieces of the device until she was satisfied, at which point she held it in both hands with a sort of reverence grinning at it before lifting her pleased grin to Jack, who stepped in front of the brigadier and moved until he standing in front of her, arms crossed._

" _What is it?" He asked her, very curious about the young blonde. She didn't look more than twenty years old, which he found strange. It was very unusual for UNIT to allow someone so young into their ranks._

 _She grinned widely at him. "It's a particle gun," she said excitedly, before frowning at him. "Where did you get it?" She asked him, looking at it reverently again._

 _Jack's smile grew slowly. "Can you operate it?" he asked, avoiding her question._

 _She gave him a condescending look, which only made him grin wider. "I just put it together properly," she shot a look at Owen, "of course I can operate it."_

" _Show me," Jack said, and Rose's ensuing grin, which included the tip of her tongue curling around her canine._

"Jack seems very fond of you," John said as they reached the bar and Rose waited patiently to get the bartender's attention. He was watching the young woman attentively. She was young, obviously, much younger than his 31 years, and he ran his hand through his hair uncomfortably. He hadn't spent time with anyone who looked as young as her in years, though Jack liked the say that he was only 25, John knew very well that Jack had turned 29 last week. He wondered again what made this young woman so special that Jack had gone to such lengths to keep her at Torchwood.

Rose smiled at him, playing with the seam of her shirt. "Jack has been very kind to me." She replied, looking back at their group and seeing them laugh while Owen looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Everyone at Torchwood has been." She continued before lifting her gaze to back to the bartender and ordering a pitcher of beer. "Some girl told me to watch out for him though, she told me he might be usin' me and that's why he was bein' so friendly." She told John after the bartender had gone to fill her pitcher.

"Who?" John demanded, his voice harsher than he intended. Yes, Jack was a right flirt, but the man would never hurt or use anyone intentionally, and the very thought that Rose was being warned off by some stranger ruffled his feathers.

Rose shrugged. "Dunno. Didn't bother gettin' her name. Just told her to shove off." John laughed at that and she turned her disarming gaze on him, looking at him curiously. "So, Jack tells me you're a doctor. Medical or no?"

"No," he answered with a grin. "I actually was in med school for two years before I dropped out. Decided it wasn't for me. Switched to astrophysics, got my doctorate. So I'm a doctor in name only." Rose raised her eyebrows, looking impressed, and John felt a flush of blood in his cheeks, hopefully not reddening them too noticeably. She seemed to be about to reply when the bartender came back, passing her the pitcher and a napkin with a cocky smirk. Oblivious, Rose took the pitcher with a grateful smile and started her walk back to the table, leaving John to carry the three glasses for himself, Rose and Jack. As he did so, he noticed an annoyed look on the bartender's face, and dropped his eyes to see that Rose had left the napkin he'd given her, which had the name _Adam_ sloppily written on it and a phone number. He felt and unreasonable search of jealousy surge through him.

The bartender seemed young, probably still in his early twenties. Much closer to Rose in age than John, so he should absolutely not feel jealous because Rose wasn't interested in an old sod like him.

When he made his way back to the table, Rose had already sat down, and Owen was pouring himself some of the beer. He placed the three glasses down on the table before sliding in to sit next to Rose, ignoring the way his heart picked up when he squeezed into the almost-full bench, his thigh brushing up against Rose's. He looked at her quickly and didn't see a reaction from her, and he scolded his childish thoughts. Of course she didn't care. She didn't even know him!

The group made easy conversation, and before John knew it he was in his third hour at the bar with his friends, having hardly noticed the time fly by as they joked and told stories about their work. It was nearing 1AM when they finally agreed that they should head home, because all of them except John and Gwen were working in the morning and they needed some rest if they wanted to get any work done. Jack gave Gwen a quick hug, wishing her a safe vacation for which she'd be catching her flight tomorrow, and Ianto, Tosh and Owen quickly followed suit, giving the woman quick hugs. Rose, John noticed with interest, hung back, a smile on her face and her fingers toying again with her coat sleeves. It was probably because she was so new to the Torchwood team, John reasoned, as he and Jack began their walk.

"Do you mind if I walk with you for a bit?" Rose asked, the words rushing out of her mouth and her cheeks reddening when the two men turned to look at her. "My – ah – my flat is that way."

"Course not," Jack replied easily, and the three began to walk along the sidewalk in silence. It was only a few minutes before Rose waved goodbye to them and turned to walk down a dark street that John didn't recognize. He shared a concern frown with Jack, neither wanting the young woman to walk by herself in the dark. John finally nodded at Jack to go home, knowing the other man had to get up in only a few hours to head to work, before jogging to catch up to Rose, who hadn't made it very far.

"Don't mind if I join you, do you?" He asked her pleasantly when he made it to her side. Rose looked up at him, and he noticed alarm flash in her eyes. He quickly amended his question; "I meant, do you mind if I walk you home. It's dark, you shouldn't be walking by yourself." He looked around at the worn-down buildings and barred windows. "Especially not in this neighborhood."

"It's not all that different from the one I grew up in, actually," Rose told him with a small smile and a nod. "Except for the funny accents."

John laughed. "I think we're the one with the accents now." He told her playfully, pleased to see her smile widen.

The walk to Rose's flat was far longer than he'd expected, and he was grateful that he'd decided to walk with her, uncomfortable with the idea of her walking all this way alone. They made pleasant chitchat as they walked; Rose told him that her mum still lived in London, and that they didn't talk as much as Rose would like because she couldn't afford the international call, and John told her about how he lived with Jack, and how much of a nuisance the other man could be. She laughed at his jokes and offered him false sympathy that was often accompanied by a small snicker when he told her of Jack's antics at their shared flat.

When they finally made it to Rose's building, she stopped to look at him curiously before speaking. "Do you want to come up for a cuppa?" She asked, biting her lip and playing with her sleeve.

John's eyebrows pulled into a frown. "I wouldn't want to keep you…" he murmured, knowing she had to be up early.

She bounced uncomfortably on the balls of her feet. "I, um, don't sleep much." She stammered quietly, looking at John with a hope filled expression.

Oh, that was mean. He couldn't say no to her now. He gave her a quick nod, and her answering smile warmed his heart. She led the way into the old building, taking him up several flights of dusty stairs lit by harsh, flickering fluorescent lights before stopped at an old door. She shoved her key into the lock and open the door quickly, unceremoniously kicking off her shoes and walking straight to the small kitchen to turn the kettle on.

John entered slowly, closing the door and locking it behind him. He slipped out of his own shoes before stepping further into the flat. There was a small entrance hallway, and then the kitchen was on the immediate right, stocked with appliances that looked at least twenty years old. The bathroom was to his left, and the small living room just in front of him. He made his way there and sat on an old grey sofa, settling in slightly uncomfortably.

"Milk or sugar?" She called to him from the kitchen.

"Two sugars, thanks," John replied as he looked around her flat. The walls were a dull greyish colour that John assumed had once been white, and there was an old telly directly across from the sofa, a small wooden coffee table between the two. There were no pictures on the walls, no decorations, and it seemed like more of a temporary place than a permanent home. Then again, he reasoned, she'd only been living here for a week. A door with chipped paint was next to the small tellie, and he assumed that was her bedroom, though he didn't look.

She joined him a few moments later, a steaming mug in each hand. She placed them carefully on the coffee table before sitting down next to him on the couch, a good distance between the. He took the mug with a murmured thanks.

"Nice place," he commented weakly.

She snorted. "Right," she replied disbelievingly, looking at him with a small smile. "It does the trick though. Don't spend a whole lot of time here anyway. I usually just stay at Torchwood late and only come here to sleep. You're my first houseguest." She finished with a small smile.

John frowned. "How do you get back here?"

"I walk," she told him, reaching for the remote and turning the old tellie on, flicking through the channels with a frown on her face.

"From Torchwood to here?" John asked, his eyebrows nearing his hairline. If he was calculating right, that was at least an hour and a half walk. "When it's dark?"

She shrugged and nodded. He ran his hand through his hair again, the tips of his ears when he noticed Rose watching him with interest. He quirked an eyebrow and met her gaze, making her smile and turn back to the tellie. She had stopped it on an old rerun of _The Big Bang_ _Theory_ , John realized. He hadn't watched that show in a few years. "This alright?" She asked him nervously, her face slackening in relief when he grinned and nodded.

"So why did you leave UNIT?" John asked after several minutes of comfortable silence. "Jack never really said."

Rose bit her lip. "I don't know how much they told him," she said, putting down her cuppa and eyeing him. John thought he could see amusement in her eyes. "UNIT is very…" she frowned, searching for the word, "methodological. They like things done a certain way, they like uniformity, and they _love_ theoretical research. I'm not so good at methodological and theoretical. I like practical work, sortin' stuff out as a go, stuff like that. Apparently, when you're in the weapons and technology department, they frown on that kind of testin'." She said carefully.

He frowned at her before he realized what she was saying, and then his eyebrows shot upward and his mouth popped open. "You blew something up." He breathed.

She laughed and nodded. "Twice." She told him. "No one was hurt, but they were less than pleased with me."

"I bet," John laughed. "How long were you there?"

"Two months." She replied, reaching for her tea again and taking a small sip. "They didn't want to entirely get rid of me, because I'm good at what I do, for some reason, but they wanted me off their hands."

"So they passed you off to Torchwood." John nodded with understanding. "How did they get Jack to take you?"

She grinned. "A lot of beggin', I think, and me fixin' a…gun that Owen had assembled wrong." Rose was not sure how much John knew about the true nature of Torchwood, but she wouldn't be the one to spill the beans, and she'd noticed that none of her team had mentioned aliens all night, so she wouldn't either.

John laughed, and conversation flowed easily from there. It was well past 2AM, nearing 3, when John finally stood from the couch. She stood with him and walked him to the door, standing awkwardly, unsure of herself, as he slipped his shoes back on. When he was done, he stood and faced her, neither knowing what to say as the silence grew longer.

"When do you have to be up for work?" John finally settled on.

She checked her watch and sighed. "Three hours." Both were quiet again before Rose spoke up hesitantly. "Would you, um, want to meet up again sometime? For coffee or…or tea, or somethin'?" She asked him shyly, not meeting his eyes."

He blinked in surprise. She wanted to see him again? Even though he was nearly ten years older than her? "Yeah, sure," he croaked out.

She held out her hand and flicked her fingers in a familiar motion, and he quickly placed his mobile in her palm. She typed quickly before handing it back to him with a shy smile. When they both stood again, neither knowing what to say or do, Rose impulsively stood on his tip toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek, ignoring her bright red cheeks and his red ears. "Night, John," She said quietly.

"Good night," John stumbled, stepping out of her apartment and making sure he heard the door lock behind him before stepping out into the cool New York air.

He was halfway home when he remembered that he hadn't unlocked his phone when he'd given it to Rose, but sure enough, when he did unlock and checked his contacts, her name was there. Maybe her expertise extended beyond weaponry after all, he realized.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, hello there, roomie."

John looked up from his novel as his friend sauntered into the flat, a lopsided grin on his face and his eyes sparkling with mischief as he eyed John up. John frowned at him over the thick black rims of his glasses, suspicious of his friend's strange behaviour. With a quick exhale he turned his eyes back down to his book, flipping a page casually. "What did you do?" He asked Jack in his warning tone.

"Me?" Jack said in false surprise, giving John an affronted look. "I haven't done anything. You, on the other hand…what have you been doing. Or rather," he gave John a pointed look, " _who_ have you been doing?"

John's head didn't move, but his eyes flicked up to Jack, glaring over his glasses again. Jack said nothing in response, simply shrugging his shoulders and making his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and grabbed an apple, rubbing it on his shirt whilst meeting John's eyes and smirking. With an annoyed eye roll, John snapped his book closed and took off his glasses. "I didn't shag Rose."

Jack stopped, frowning at John before letting out an annoyed huff. "You're serious?" He asked, taking in John's serious, irritated expression before growing in frustration. "You _are_ serious. What the hell, John? Why not? She's great, and you couldn't keep your eyes off her all night."

John rolled his eyes again and stood up from his place on the recliner in their comfortable living room and going to the fridge himself, opening it and pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "I'm not you," he reminded his flat mate, "I don't shag girls I just met, and I certainly won't be shagging her. What is she, like twenty years old?" He shrugged as he took a sip, leaning back against the counter and tucking his free hand in his pocket.

Jack scoffed and took a bite from his apple, collapsing in the chair that John had just left. "Who cares?" He asked with his mouth full, making John cringe in disgust. He swallowed before speaking again. "She's nice, and brilliant, and clever. Who cares if she's a few years younger?"

"How much is a few years?" John asked, taking a final swing from his glass before putting in the sink to wash later.

Jack frowned as John made his way back into the living room, sitting down on their too-long couch and crossing his arms as he regarded his friend, waiting for an answer. "Nine years?" Jack said thoughtfully before shrugging. "That's nothing, John. Definitely not enough to be the real reason you won't go after her." John shook his head in annoyance, reaching for the remote that sat on the coffee table in front of him and turning on their old tellie, flicking through the channels aimlessly. "By the way," Jack continued, making John groan, "how late _did_ you stay? Because Rose looked more tired than usual today."

"Late," John replied without looking at Jack. "I think it was almost 3AM when I left."

Jack raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

John frowned thoughtfully. "Was she still there when you left today?"

Jack let out another huff of air, nodding as he kept his eyes trained on the tellie. "Yeah. She's always there late. She doesn't usually leave until midnight."

"How do you know?"

Jack shrugged. "She has to use her key code to lock behind her. She's always the last to go, so I can check the system and see when he code was used. It tends to be around midnight."

John checked his phone, seeing that it was only 6:30. Impulsively, he unlocked it and sent a quick text.

 _Want to do dinner?_

It was several minutes before he got a response.

 _Now?_

 _Not now. In 45 mins_

 _I'm working_

He sighed, disappointed, and tucked his phone away. He resigned himself to the crap American show Jack was watching.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" Jack asked through another bite of his apple, which made John look at him in disgust. Jack was unperturbed, looking at John in question.

John sighed. "I don't know. Do you want to get a pizza?"

Jack gave him a thumb up and turned his attention back to the television. The two were silent for a few minutes, their eyes on show that John wasn't paying attention to at all. His thoughts were on Rose. He was thinking about her smile, her laugh, how easily the conversation flowed between the two of them…

Crap.

Why couldn't he stop thinking about the young blonde, anyway? She was too young for him, she barely knew him, he wasn't looking for a relationship, and she probably wasn't either. Not with someone like him. Not with someone who ruined everything he touched.

He would stop thinking about her, that's what he needed to do. He could do that, he could not think about Rose Tyler and her bright, honest smile, her honey-coloured eyes, the way she bit her lip…

Jack's phone shook him from his thoughts. His flat mate pulled the phone from his pocket and checked the caller ID, frowning when he saw the name. He quickly answered it. "Rose?" He said, leaning forward in his seat, his face tensing. John, who had been intently paying attention since hearing Rose's name, wished desperately to know what was going on that made Jack's mouth pop open and shock colour his eyes. The American stood quickly, asking, "are you alright?" as he moved through the flat quickly, pulling on each of his shoes single-handedly and then throwing on his coat. "Okay, I'll be right there," he said as he grabbed his keys from their key bowl and opened the door. He froze in the doorframe, frowning again, and his gaze jumped to John, who recoiled in surprise. "Yeah, he's here. Why?" He listened for a moment, then his eyebrows shot up. "Really? Don't you think – " another pause, and John was very unsure about what was going on, but he knew it was serious. "Yeah, alright, fine. See you in a few." He hung up then turned to his roommate, who was looking slightly lost. "Get your coat. We gotta go."

John moved quickly, throwing on a light jacket and his chucks before quickly joining Jack. The two made their way out of the flat, John on Jack's heels and confused about the concerned yet steely look on his flat mate's face. 'Everything alright?" John asked him as he jogged to keep up with Jack's long and fast strides.

"Hope so." Jack said as they reached the parking garage of the building. They made their way to Jack's car and quickly got in. John fumbled with his seatbelt while Jack didn't even bother, taking off with an urgency that John had never seen before. They said nothing for the rest of the drive, each sitting in tense silence, as they pulled up to the Torchwood tower.

John had been here before, a few times, but never after hours. The high-security entrance still puzzled him as they made their way through the decoy desk, often used by Ianto, that was littered with brochures and maps and a single computer that looked to be about twenty years old. Jack breezed right by it and quickly uncovered a keypad on the wall of a small alcove. He typed in a series of numbers, and a large vault-like door swung open, revealing the Torchwood hub.

Jack stepped in quickly, John still following behind. "Rose?" he called out, his voice echoing around the empty building.

"No need to shout. I'm right here." Rose replied, her voice much quieter than Jack's. She was sitting awkwardly on a bench, her face looking pale and drawn, but she smiled as they came in. "Thanks for coming," she said quietly as Jack rushed his way over, kneeling in front of her.

"What happened?" Jack asked her, seeming much calmer, though John could still detect a note of panic in the younger man's voice.

Rose bit her lip. "I was working with…" her eyes flicked up to where John was standing, still rather lost and uncomfortable, "something, but I must have assembled it wrong, so when I fired it…" her voice trailed off and she looked down at her arm. John stood on his tip toes to see over Jack's head, and realized she was holding a thick white pad of something on her forearm, and there was a puddle of blood at her feet. His heat began to pound in his chest.

Jack sighed and reached up to cup her head lightly. "Let's get you to Owen's station." He told her, and she nodded quickly, biting her lip again. Jack got to his feet quickly and made his way to John first. "Can you sew her up?" he asked quietly.

"What? No. She should go to a hospital." John replied indignantly.

"She won't. You went to med school. It's only a few stitches." Jack pleaded.

John met his eyes steadily, prepared to argue, but he saw real panic in Jack's eyes, and Rose was getting very pale, very quickly. With a sigh, he nodded. Jack clapped his shoulder before quickly making his way back to Rose and helping her stand before guiding her further into the hub as John followed.

It didn't take long until they reached the pristine station that could only be Owen's, a medical cot in the center of a circle of counters and desks. Jack helped Rose sit on the cot before rummaging through the drawers of the counters, pulling out the supplies John would need to stitch Rose's arm.

Jack handed him the equipment, and John sat in an office chair and rolled his way over to Rose, a reassuring smile on his face. She smiled weakly in return.

"Okay, Rose," John said, his voice calm as he picked up a needle that had Rose looking rather wary. "This is an anesthesia that I'm going to use to numb your arm. It's going to sting, but it'll hurt a loss less than if I were to do stitches without it." He met her eyes, watching as she took a deep breath and gave him a quick nod before looking away from her arm. He injected the local anesthesia as painlessly as he could, trying not to pay attention when her jaw tense and she ground her teeth. "Well done," he smiled as he pulled the needle out, and she gave him a tense smile. "Right, it should only take a few minutes for that to work, so keep pressing down on that pad, okay?"

"Okay," she responded tersely.

"You're sure you don't want to go to a hospital?" John checked, meeting her eyes. "I can do it, but you'll probably have a nasty scar."

"That's fine." Rose said. "I'm not going to the hospital."

"Can I ask why?" John asked gently.

She raised her eyebrows and gave him a real smile, though it looked wan. "You can ask." She responded, though she didn't say anything else.

John sighed. "Okay, then." He gently prodded at her forearm. "Can you feel that?" She shook her head. "Okay. Let's get started. Can you take off the pad please, Rose?" he saw her eyes widen in alarm and she shot Jack a look over John's shoulder.

"Do you need me to step out?" Jack asked quietly. John was about to reassure him that no, he could stay where he was, but Rose pressed her lips together and nodded.

He waited until Rose's tense posture relaxed slightly and reached forward, not quite touching her. "Can I…" He indicated towards her arm. She let out a deep breath and nodded, not meeting his eyes again. Gently, he peeled away the pad she'd been using, revealing the large cut along her forearm that was easily six inches long. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be horribly deep, which was something, but the cuts weren't the only thing that caught John's attention.

Trying not to react too obviously, he gently pushed back her sleeve to reveal several faded bruises along her arm. They were yellow-ish in colour, showing their age and that he'd not seen them at their worst. Small, fingerprint like bruises dotted around the larger ones, and he looked up at her face in alarm. She refused to meet his eyes.

"Rose," he said quietly, knowing his worry echoed in his tone.

"Just do the stitches, please." She said quickly, closing her eyes.

He swallowed then nodded, picking up his instruments and getting to work, painstakingly disinfecting and stitching her arm to the best of his ability.

When he finished, he let the instruments clatter on the tray and examined her cut carefully, making sure the stitches were all right. With a nod, he grabbed a bandage and carefully placed it over her cut, pressing lightly on the adhesive rim so that it would stick. "There," he finally said. "Done."

She carefully rolled her sleeve down over the bandage. "Thanks John," she murmured to him, and he nodded in response.

He regarded her seriously for a moment before lightly placing his hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about – "

"No." She interrupted, a finality to her tone that he couldn't argue with.

He sighed and pulled away. "Alright, then." He said.

"Can I come out now?" Jack's voice echoed around the hub, and John gave Rose a questioning look, waiting for her nod before he called his assent. Jack was back quickly, a plastic cup in his hand. He handed it over to Rose. "Apple juice. Looks like you lost a lot of blood. You could do with some sugar, I think."

"Thanks, Jack," Rose said quietly, giving him a smile before she sipped at the juice.

"I cleaned up the mess." Jack told her as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and John threw away his used materials.

Rose choked before looking at Jack in alarm, "I'm so sorry! I would have done that, you didn't have to!"

Jack flapped his hand at her before turning to John. "She's good?"

"Yeah." John said shortly.

"Good. Now let's go get dinner. I'm starving." Jack nodded.

"No, but I have to –" Rose started to say as John helped her off the medical cot.

"You have to eat something." John interrupted. "I'm sure you can take the evening off anyway. You're not even supposed to be working this late."

Rose's shoulders slumped in resignation and she let the two men lead her out. They drove to Jack's favourite pizza place and ordered a large one for the three of them to share. Rose continued to argue that she should go home, but one eye roll and smirk from Jack through the rear-view mirror of his car quieted her, and she sat quietly in the back seat until they reached Jack's and John's.

They led her up the stairs of her apartment, and John couldn't help think of how much cleaner his building was compared to Rose's, and wondered if she was thinking the same thing. Her eyes darted around their flat when they led her inside, and John realized she was cataloguing everything in her mind. He wondered if maybe that was a UNIT thing.

"Nice place," she finally said quietly as she removed her shoes and awkwardly walked in.

Both men smiled at her as they made their way over to the previous seats, setting the pizza box in the coffee table. Jack flung it open immediately and grabbed a piece, stuffing it into his mouth. John rolled his eyes and turned to Rose. "You want something to drink?" He asked her.

She shook her head and gingerly sat on the couch. John sat on the other end and reached for a slice of pizza, also grabbed the tellie remote as he did so. He clicked it on as he took a bite and searched through the channels quickly, stopping when Jack let out a weird gasp of excitement. He set down the remote, unsure of what they were watching, just as Rose reached for a slice of pizza.

When their hands collided Rose withdrew hers immediately, snapping it away from his as quickly as she could, giving him a sheepish smile. He returned the smile, and neither noticed that Jack's attention had drifted away form the TV, and he was watching them curiously, a smirk growing on his face.

 **If you can't do the math, Rose is 21. John is 30.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry it took so long! While I was writing my computer kept shutting down on me and I lost my work 3 times! Very Annoying. And the chapter is short. I'll try to make the next one longer to make up for that.**

"Well dears," Jack said cheerfully, hauling to his feet from his slouched position on his recliner, "it's past my bed time. I'm off." He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders before giving each of them a small wave and heading into his bedroom, closing his door quietly behind him.

Rose, her mouth full of popcorn, pulled her mobile out of her pocket and chocked on her mouthful when she saw the time. Patting her chest while she swallowed and letting out a dry cough. "I'm so sorry, John. I hadn't realized how late it had gotten."

"It's no problem," John said honestly, smiling widely at her and rising from his position on the couch when she got to her feet.

"No, I've kept you up, I'm sorry," she said, her voice becoming nervous and her fingers flying to the seam of her sleeves in a movement John realized was a habit, one she probably wasn't even aware she was doing. He wondered how she'd developed the tick – it wasn't one he usually saw.

"Don't be ridiculous, Rose, I was at yours until nearly three in the morning last night." He rebuffed with a smirk, glad to see her lips curl into a small smile. "Anyway, it's past one now, you'll stay here tonight." He told her decisively, decidedly against the idea of sending her out on her own to walk the barely lit path back to her building.

Alarm crossed her face, and she shook her head, moving towards the door where she'd left her bag and shoes. "That's very kind, John, but not necessary. I'll walk home, it's not that far."

John moved so he was blocking her path, trying to meet her eyes, though she seemed to be purposefully avoiding his gaze. "Rose. It's late." He told her quietly. "Please stay."

She lifted her eyes for a moment, guarded hazel meeting warm brown, and her teeth sunk into nervously into her full bottom lip. She ran her hand through her blonde hair, exposing the darker brown roots. "I don't want to be in the way," she said quietly, still sounding unsure.

John shook his head. "Not at all," he reassured, reaching out to place his hand on her shoulder, blinking in surprise when she flinched and stepped back so that she was out of his reach. "You can take my bed."

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head quickly. "I'll sleep on the couch."

He frowned. "Are you sure? My bed is much – "

"I'm sure," she cut him off with a wan smile.

He regarded her for a long moment before letting out a deep breath and nodding. "Alright, if you're sure. I'll get you a blanket and a pillow." He told her with a smile, turning to fetch the mentioned items from the linen closet near the bathroom.

She smiled thankfully, returning to her spot on the couch and sitting gingerly on the edge of the cushion, suddenly very uncomfortable in the very homey flat. She let out a heavy breath and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing and keeping her heart calm. She hadn't spent a night in a flat that wasn't her own since Jimmy. Her fingers curled into tight fists, and she let her attention be pulled to the sharp sting of her fingernails digging into the skin on her palm rather than let thoughts of Jimmy invade her mind. It was too recent, too fresh.

"Rose?" John's voice snapped her out of her reverie. Her eyes opened to meet his. He was on his knee in front of her, his eyes level with hers, and watching her with concern. There was a wool blanket and a pillow to her to her right, and Rose suddenly realized she had no idea how long she'd been sitting, nor how long John had been in front of her. "Are you alright?" He asked her worriedly, obviously wanting to reach out and touch her arm in comfort. She felt a small rush of relief when he didn't touch her.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, feeing a tinge of frustration when her voice shook. She let out another breath and smiled weakly at him. "I'm fine," she said again, her voice steadier.

He clearly didn't believe her, but she sighed in relief when he didn't press for more information, getting to his feet instead. "Alright," he said quietly, and she thought she could hear disappointment in his tone. "Here are the things, then," he patted the pillow. "I'm going to head to bed myself. Are you sure you're alright?"

She nodded, a grateful smile on her lips. He regarded her for a few more minutes before nodding to her with a small smile and heading into his own bedroom, closing the door without a look back.

Rose sunk into the couch with a heavy sigh. She could sneak out in about half an hour, when John and Jack would likely be asleep, she told her self as she ran her hand through her hair. She could, but she felt a pang of sadness when she thought of John's hurt in the morning and found she really did not want John to be sad, or angry, or even worse, disappointed in her. She let out a frustrated moan, and closed her eyes. She wasn't meant to do this. She wasn't meant to become attached to someone. Not now. She leaned back against the couch and let her head roll back, taking several deep breaths.

Once she'd calmed her heart, she stood from the couch. She took the pillow and tossed it to one end of the couch then spread out the blanket, settling underneath it and adjusting the pillow. Hesitantly, she leaned back so that her head rested on the pillow. It was plush, which surprised her, and much more comfortable than the pillow she had back at her own flat. She snorted at herself. Of course she was more comfortable on a bleeding couch than her own cheap mattress and pillow. She rolled onto her side. She wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

If she wouldn't be sleeping, she might as well have a cuppa. She stood from the couch and took a few steps towards the small kitchen before stopping. She certainly couldn't go rummaging through their cupboards. She turned to look at the doors the men had gone through, wondering on whose door she should knock, or if she should bother either of them at all. Uncomfortably, she tugged at her sleeves.

"Grow up, Rose." She muttered to herself before taking a few steps and knocking on the door she'd seen John go through.

"Yeah?" came the response.

She opened the door a crack and poked her head in, biting her lip uncomfortably.

The room was dark, and she heard John rustle the sheets of the bed before a light flicked on and he came into few, blinking against the sudden brightness. "Rose?" He said curiously, frowning at her. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, um," she ran her hand through her hair, "I'm sorry, if I woke you – "

"You didn't." he told her quickly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied. "Nothing, I just…" She trailed off and bit her lip again, looking down at her feet, suddenly feeling very foolish.

John raised his eyebrows. "You just?" He prompted her gently.

"I was wondering if you had any tea," the words tumbled from her lips quickly. "I, um, I usually like to have tea…before I sleep." She admitted.

"Oh," John blinked. "Yeah, of course." He threw off the blankets and made his way towards her, his eyes on hers. He stopped at the door when she didn't move, simply meeting his gaze. He stood close to her, closer than she let anyone stand, looking down at her and meeting her gaze. They gazed at each other for several minutes in silence before Rose jumped and stepped out of the way, looking back down at her feet.

John let out a huff of air and moved passed her, walking quickly to the kitchen and opening up a cupboard. He reached in and pulled out a tin of tea. "I don't have any decaf." He told her unsurely, offering the tin.

She took the tin and opened it, pulling out a small pouch and handing the tin back. He put it back in its place and filled up an old looking kettle. Rose smiled at it fondly, and John caught the look, frowning in confusion. "What?" He asked her self-consciously.

She pointed to the kettle. "My mum, she had the same one when I was a kid." She told him quietly, the smile still on her lips. John watched the expression carefully, liking the way her lips tugged upwards and her normally guarded eyes sparkling with fondness. He placed the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner, then leaned back against the counter, regarding Rose with curiosity in his eyes. She was strange, this Rose Tyler. She stood in front of him, not meeting his eyes and tugging on her sleeves again. "Thanks for this," she said suddenly, quietly.

He blinked. "What?"

"Just," she paused, biting her lip. "Thanks." She said again, not meeting his intent gaze.

John didn't respond for several moments, looking at her curiously. "Sure," he said quietly after a few minutes of silence. "Any time."

More silence.

"John?" Rose spoke up again.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you…sorry, it's kind of strange…" she murmured, tugging on her sleeves.

John frowned. "You can ask me anything, Rose." He told her quietly, honestly.

She bit her lip and met his earnest gaze before taking a deep breath. "Can I…" she paused again and shook her head at her own folly, letting out a huff of air before shrugging and looking at John with a pleading look that shocked him. "John, will you hug me?" She finally said, feeling like a fool.

He blinked in surprise and opened his arms to her. She hesitantly stepped into them and wrapped his arms lightly around his torso, and he let his arms fall around her waist, holding her loosely. She was warm, and very small, unnaturally small. He could feel her rib cage as she pressed herself to him. Her head rested on his chest, and he pressed his cheek to the top of her head, feeling the softness of her hair against his skin. "You alright?" He asked her quietly.

Her arms tightened slightly. "Yeah," she murmured, and her voice vibrated through his core.

The kettle began to squeal and Rose jumped and stepped away from John quickly, smiling at him gratefully. He returned the smile tentatively, reaching into another cupboard and grabbing her a mug. She dropped the pouch in the mug and grinned at him, and he smiled back at her as he poured in the steaming water. "Thank you," Rose murmured to him.

"'Course." John replied gently. Her answering smile met her eyes.

Rose took the mug in both hands, letting it warm her palms, and moved back to the couch, sliding under the blanket John had offered. She held the mug to her chest and let her warm her core. She was grateful to John for the hug. It had been months since Rose had allowed anyone to touch her, and it had felt nice to have contact with someone, kindly contact. "Will you be alright?" John's quiet voice pulled her attention back to him.

She looked up at him, meeting his warm brown eyes, and smiled, blinking slowly. "Yeah," she said, a new warmth in her voice. "Thank you, John," she told her earnestly.

John smiled affectionately. "Sure," he responded. With a final nod, he returned to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Rose let out a small sigh and took a sip of her tea, humming in pleasure when the scalding drink hit her tongue.

She pulled out her mobile, fiddling with it aimlessly even though there was nothing she could do with the thing. There were no games, no source of entertainment. She had no friends to text, no one to talk to. She groaned. It would be a long night. She couldn't sleep, she couldn't go home, she couldn't talk to any one. There was nothing for her to do.

If she slept, the nightmares would come back, like they did every night, and she would scream. She would scream and thrash and cry, like she did every night, and they would know, they would call her weak, they would judge her. She liked Jack and John. They were kind to her, they were friendly and she really _liked_ them. She wouldn't subject her new friends to her troubles. She could deal with her troubles on her own, just like she always had.

She waited a few minutes before standing again, setting the tea on the coffee table in front of the couch and pacing around the small flat. Her eyes fell on a very full-looking bookshelf, and Rose smiled, pleased at having found something to do. She pulled her mobile from her pocket and turn on the flash from the camera so that she could browse the titles. She found several texts on astrophysics, which she assumed were John's because as brilliant as Jack was, that didn't seem to be his style. There were also a great deal of fiction books, though Rose was amused to see they were organized alphabetically and separate from the non-fiction. Again, the meticulous organization hinted towards John. Her gaze finally landed on an old looking book. Its red hardcover lacked the usual dust jacket, and the worn-looking spine bore no title, but she squinted to make out the words that were written in terribly small font along the edge.

 _A. Conan Doyle_

Rose grinned and pulled the book from the shelf. On the top left corner of the cover, there were words in larger print.

 _Sherlock Holmes  
_ _Short Stories_

Satisfied, Rose brought the large book back to her spot on the sofa and settled in to read, the book open on her lap and her mobile in the other to light the pages.

 _"To Sherlock Holmes she is always_ the _woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise, but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has ever seen: but, as a lover, he would have placed himself in a false position..."_

Rose lost herself in the familiar stories. Though she'd not been a particularly good student in high school, during her time with Jimmy Stone, she'd often been left alone for days and nights on end while he was at his gigs and...keeping himself entertained in other ways. At a loss for things to do - they hadn't owned a telly in their tiny flat, nor a computer - Rose had visited a used book store and found and bought a few books, once of which had been a very similar copy of the book she was currently reading. It had been older, and had suffered from a spill, no doubt, as some of the pages had been wrinkly and crisp, some stuck together, but they were more of the same stories, and Rose had found comfort in the well-spun tales of the sociopathic detective and his friend.

 _"Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of blood upon the window, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her presence could be of no help to them in their investigations. Inspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful examination of the premises, but without finding anything which threw any light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in not arresting Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes during which he might have communicated with his friend the Lascar..."_

 _"_ Rose?" Rose looked up to see a bleary-eyed Jack looking at her in confusion from the doorframe of his bedroom. She hadn't heard the door open and blinked in surprise at the sight of him. He was wearing fleece trousers, for which she was grateful, because knowing Jack she suspected that he wasn't wearing anything else underneath, especially if his lack of shirt was any indication. She clicked a button on her mobile and was surprised to see it was already half six in the morning. "Did you sleep at all?" Jack asked her as he made his way to the kitchen, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Yeah," Rose lied as she carefully placed the book on the coffee table, leaving it open so she wouldn't lose her spot.

Jack frowned but shrugged. "How's your arm?" He asked her as he filled the coffee machine with water.

Rose's hand flew to where her sleeve was still covering the large bandage that John had carefully placed over the cut. "It's fine." She told him honestly.

Jack nodded. "If you stay here until John wakes up, he can change the dressing for you. It won't be long. He's an early riser, even when he isn't working." He told her as he hit a button on the machine and it sprang to life, getting to work on his coffee. "I'm gunna hit the shower. You want to drive into work with me today?"

Rose bit her lip. "I could, but, um," she looked down at her feet.

"But?" Jack prompted.

"It's my day off," Rose finished with a small chuckle. In all honesty, she'd been planning on going to work anyway, since she didn't have anything else to do, but now she wasn't so sure.

Jack looked at her in surprise, but a grin grew on his face when he saw her eyes flick over to John's closed door. "Whatever you say," he told her, a teasing note to his voice, before he turned on his heel and headed into the bathroom. Rose heard the water from the shower turn on. Her cheeks were undoubtedly a bright red at this point. She hadn't even asked John if he was free today. She had no idea if he was working, or if he'd even want to spent time with her. Shaking her head in embarrassment, she moved towards the door, ready to slip out and head home, until another voice called to her.

"You leaving?"

She turned to see John making his way into the kitchen to turn on the kettle. Unlike Jack, his eyes were clear and awake, and his voice didn't carry any hint of sleep. Jack hadn't been kidding when he'd said John was an early riser. Her cheeks flushed as she stared at him. His hair was a dishevelled mess, and his jimjams were a simple pair of cotton trousers and a black t-shirt that hugged his slim frame nicely. He was looking at her in confusion, and Rose realized she'd been staring at him instead of answering. Her cheeks burned. "I was gunna head home, have breakfast," she lied, her voice sounding embarrassingly squeaky.

John raised a single eyebrow, and she wondered if it were possible for her face to turn any more red. "If you want to stay, I could take you to breakfast." He offered hopefully. "I don't work weekends, so I've got the day off."

Rose bit her lip, her eyes lowering to where her shoes were buried under her bag in their doorway before looking back up to him. He'd grabbed the same kettle he'd used yesterday and was filling it up with water from the tap, looking at her in question. "Well?" He pressed, not unkindly. "Do I fill it up for one or two?" He indicated the kettle in his hand.

Rose was silent for another moment before she heaved a sigh. "Two," she said quietly, moving away from the doorway and into their small kitchen, sitting gingerly at their kitchen table.

She didn't see his answering grin. "Two it is, then."

 **The passages from Sherlock Holmes are taken directly from _A Scandal in Bohemia_ and _The Man With the Twisted Lip_ , two of Conan Doyle's short stories. **


	4. Chapter 4

**I lied. It's not a long one. It's shorter, actually. But I've got big plans for the next one.**

They were quiet as the kettle sat on the burner, heating up the water for their tea. A loud beeping noise made Rose jump and blink in surprise, and John chuckled before pointing his thumb at the coffee machine, which had a blinking blue light that, she assumed, meant that Jack's coffee was ready. She wrinkled her nose. "Americans," she said, as though it was an insult, and John laughed.

"Be careful who you say that to," he teased, an easy smile on his face. "Or have you forgotten that you're in New York now, not London?" She grimaced again, and John's grin widened.

"Do you ever miss London?" Rose asked after several moments of silence, not meeting his eyes as her fingers naturally went to the seams of her sleeve.

John blinked in surprise at her rather abrupt question before frowning as he thought. "Sometimes, I guess," he finally said. "There are things I miss, like better tea and the familiarity. But I didn't have a family like you did, or many friends, so I didn't really have any attachments holding me back." He didn't miss the way Rose's face, which had been more open and friendly than he'd ever seen, closed off immediately. Her face became impassive and her eyes became guarded, and he felt a pang in his stomach. He'd hoped that they might continue the friendly conversation, but obviously something he'd said had hit a nerve, and there was little chance of amicable chat now.

The kettle hissed loudly and John got up, removing it from the burner and turning it off. He could feel her eyes on his back as he reached into the same cupboard he had last night to grab the tin of tea pouches. He then grabbed two mugs and drops the pouches in each of them, and proceeded to pour a generous amount of boiling water into each mug. Then he carefully picked both up – one in each hand – and placed one in front of her and the other in front of his seat. He noticed her hands immediately went to cup the mug, like she had last night. Without saying anything, he grabbed the jar of sugar and a carton of milk and put both on the table between them, then sat back down, facing her.

She continued to watch him as he opened the jar of sugar, frowned in confusion for moment, then blinked in realization and stood, opening a drawer and grabbing two spoons. She felt her lips pull into an involuntary smile, which fell when she saw how John's gaze narrowed in on her lips. Wordlessly, he passed her one of the spoons, which she took. He proceeded to drag the jaw of sugar closer to him and put several spoon-fulls in his tea.

"Blimey," she said without thinking, raising her eyebrows at him. When he looked at her in question, she looked down at his mug and then back to him. A smile bloomed on her lips when realization dawned on his face, and he looked at the sugar sheepishly.

"Old habits," he said, a small smile on his face.

She met his gaze for a moment before shrugging. "That's alright. I drench my chips in vinegar."

His grin grew and he filed away the unexpected fact about herself she'd offered him. Perhaps there was hope for this conversation after all. "I always preferred red sauce," he said casually as he took a sip of his tea. She shook her head in mock-disappointment at him before reaching for the milk and pouring a bit into her tea.

"You're in America now, John. It's called ketchup." They heard Jack before they saw him. He emerged from the hallway and rounded the corner, walking purposefully towards the coffee machine. "Say it." He said as he grabbed a mug from the cupboard. "Embrace it."

John grimaced and Rose hid her smile behind her mug. "You look nice, Jack," she said to him, not noticing John's eyes widening in alarm.

He looked down at his light blue oxford, red suspenders, black belt, and grey trousers before meeting Rose's eyes and smiling flirtatiously. "Nice enough to get lucky?" He asked with a wink. Rose rolled her eyes and John groaned in annoyance.

"You're not supposed to wear a belt _and_ braces." John muttered before taking a sip of his tea.

"It's a fashion statement," Jack replied, winking at Rose.

"Or maybe it's because you _literally_ can't keep your pants on."

"Touché."

John rolled his eyes again, and Rose watched the exchange with wide, curious eyes and a small smile on her lips. Jack took a sip of his coffee and leaned against the counter, propping himself up with one hand. He met Rose's curious expression and grinned widely.

Their drinks were finished in reasonable silence, with a definite tension emanating from John and mischievous and playful grins exchanged between Rose and Jack. John let out a loud but unintentional sigh of relief when Jack declared it was time to go to work and bid them farewell. With a final wink at Rose and a wave to the both of them, Jack threw on his signature trench coat and headed to Torchwood.

Without Jack to lighten the mood, Rose felt the tension from John begin to affect her. Her shoulders and back became instinctively stiff, her lips pressed together, and her face molded into her expressionless mask. John watched this happen with dismay, desperate to bring back the teasing, curious Rose that had graced his kitchen only a few minutes ago. "How did you sleep?" He asked her quickly, watching her face.

It didn't change, though something he didn't recognize flashed in her eyes. "Fine, thanks," she replied, and John could tell it was an automatic response, much like his when asked how he was doing. Because in reality, John felt like he was holding his world together with a single line that was beginning to fray. His solidarity had left him without the support he needed to mend himself, and he hadn't realized until too late that if he continued at it alone, he would break, and he dreaded who he would become if that happened. And around him, people continued through with their boring, ordinary lives, not knowing the pain that came with watching everything one loved crumble to dust before their feet. But John knew.

He could sense a loneliness in Rose that reminded him of himself. He wasn't sure why, but this beautiful, wonderful, funny, charismatic, clever girl had become broken, like him. She shouldn't have to hurt like him.

Dejected, he looked around the room, his eyes landing on his bookshelf for some reason or another. He frowned. Something was off. His books were always meticulously organized and lined up straight, but something wasn't sitting right with him. He began looking for the cause of the definite _wrongness_ , filing through every title until he reached the source. There was a gap between two books that there shouldn't have been. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure whether he actually wanted to ask her, and Rose watched in confusion as he blinked rapidly. He finally spotted the book open on the coffee table, and his eyebrows Rose as he looked at Rose purposefully.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asked her drily, his eyes flicking over to the open tome and back to her.

She frowned and followed his gaze, spotting the book quickly. She was silent for a moment before shrugging. "I don't sleep a lot."

She noticed his eyes zero in on her, curiosity and interest crossing his freckled expression, and she involuntarily leaned back in her seat. He didn't miss the defensive reaction on her part, and tried to smooth his face. "Me neither." He said simply. "Interesting choice."

She shrugged again. "Nostalgia," she explained simply. After a few more moments of silence, she leaned forward and peered curiously into his mug, which was empty. When she leaned back, her eyes had brightened. "So," she said playfully as she bit her lip. "I believe I was promised breakfast?"

John blinked in surprise at the sudden change in her demeanor before grinning widely. He felt her eyes tracking him as he stood from the table and placed his mug in the sink. He reached out and she passed him her mug, still sitting, and he filled both with water before turning and meeting her gaze with his chocolate brown eyes, the smile still on his face. When he offered his hand, she took it, and he struggled to hide how even that little touch, that small taste of Rose Tyler, affected him. His breathing hitched slightly and his heart began to pound heavily, and he suddenly felt like a teenager who'd never been touched before. "Allons-y, Rose!" He said excitedly, pulling her towards the door.

She didn't move.

He stopped and looked at her curiously, wondering if he'd done something or said something wrong. "What?" She nodded her head slightly, lowering he gaze before lifting it again to meet her eyes. "What?" He asked again, earning the same response. "What is it, what?" He said again, and she pressed her lips together and raised an eyebrow. He stared blankly at her for a few seconds before he followed her gaze to his clothes. His cheeks burned. "Oh." He said sheepishly.

She laughed and pushed him in the direction of his bedroom. "Go on, then," she told him, "I'll wait here."

He moved quickly, anxious to get back to her. She was a mystery to him, a beautiful stranger with a strange job and a hidden past. She was utterly and completely fascinating. He changed quickly into an easy pair of jeans and a dark blue zip-up hoodie, pulled on a pair of socks and returned to her at the door.

She was already dressed – she'd pulled on her hoodie, a loose fitting grey thing that was particularly warm. She'd slipped into her trainers and was waiting by the door, slipping her phone into her purse. She smiled as he rushed back towards the door, stopping when he reached the closet to pull out his favourite black pea coat. He shrugged it on and then reached for his old red converse.

As he yanked them on and tied them quickly, he noticed the state of her trainers for the first time. They seemed to be a recent model, the laces weren't frayed or anything that might suggest she'd tied them up hundreds of times, but they were beyond worn and covered in old dirt and water stains that she'd obviously never bothered to clean. He wondered what she must have been doing for her shoes to get that dirty and worn.

When he was finally done, he stood tall and grinned at her. "Ready?"

She returned his smile, though not as wide. "Ready." She opened the door and slipped out, waiting patiently as John followed her out and carefully locked the door behind him. He offered her hand, his grin falling a bit when he self-cautiously tucked her hands into her pockets. Trying to appear unbothered, he led her out of the building and into the streets of the city.

They walked slowly to the small restaurant John had in mind, ambling side by side. He told her about buildings he found interesting as they passed, sometimes mentioning how old they were, or the chief architect, or how many windows it had…any random fact that he knew and thought she might appreciate. She blinked repeatedly in surprise when he opened the door for her, and her cheeks stained pink when she made her way inside, making him smile. He liked to surprise her, to please her.

They sat in a small table in the corner, and a cheerful young brunette came over with a pot of coffee. She poured it into the two mugs on the table, and John chatted amicably with the young woman, whose smile brightened at the conversation, while Rose simply smiled in thanks to the woman, whose nametag read _Nicole_. Nicole asked them if they were ready to order, a John, who'd been there several times and already knew what he liked, looked to Rose. She ordered a simple breakfast plate – eggs, toast, pancakes and a cup of fruits – and Nicole took note before turning her smile to John, who ordered the same. Nicole wrote it down and took both of their menus and headed back towards the kitchen.

"So, Rose," John smiled. "How do you like New York?"

She smiled shyly. "It's alright."

"Just alright?" John looked affronted.

Her smile widened. "I've seen better, I've seen worse." She explained as she poured cream into her coffee and stirred in some sugar before taking a sip, still not completely happy with the drink. "I travel sometimes, when I have some free time. I've seen some pretty incredible places."

"Really?" John leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and watching her with wide, curious eyes. "Like where?"

Hey eyes flashed with something he didn't recognize. "Oh, you know. Cardiff, Utah, France, Greenland…" she trailed off, her eyes glazing over as she looked past him. She blinked a few times to refocus her gaze, and smiled at him. "And a few others you probably wouldn't believe."

He smiled. "Try me," he teased playfully, desperate to know her, to absorb any tidbit of information about herself she was willing to offer him.

She took another sip of her coffee and grimaced, which Nicole, who happened to be passing by, noticed. She stopped. "The coffee's not burnt, is it?" She asked Rose nervously.

Rose shook her head. "No, no! Sorry, I just – " she stopped and looked down at the drink before looking up at the waitress hopefully. "Could I have tea, instead?"

Nicole looked relieved and reached for the cup. "Of course!" She said. "I'll be right back." She promised before taking off towards the kitchen again.

Rose could feel John's eyes on her as she turned her gaze outside, biting her lip.

He frowned, noticing she was suddenly quite far away. "You alright?" He asked her quietly.

She turned to him, meeting his gaze. "I'm always alright," she promised him with a small smile.

The rest of their time was passed in pleasant conversation and bright smiles. He told her about his job, about his time in New York, about the ridiculous happenings that happened when Jack was your flat mate. When their food was brought round, Rose made a noise of appreciation after tasting the pancakes that made John drop his fork and his ears tinge red. He told her that the eggs were his favourite and smiled delightedly when she tried them immediately.

At one point he made her laugh so hard she almost spit out the tea she'd been given, and he grinned so widely that his cheeks hurt.

Though she protested, he paid for their breakfast, insisting that he'd invited her, and asked her for her plans for the rest of the day.

She blinked. "I dunno," she said honestly, pulling her phone from her purse and frowning at it. He noticed this but decided not to comment.

"Would you maybe want to spend it with me?" He asked her, running his hands through his hair nervously.

She frowned at him for a moment. "I –" she closed and opened her mouth several times, which he watched, mildly amused. "There's someone I –" she tried again, and he wondered why she was stumbling over her words. "There's just someone I usually spend my days off with," she explained quickly, the words tumbling from her mouth with no control on her part. She tugged nervously on the seams of her sleeves.

"Oh," he said, frowning dejectedly. "Boyfriend?" he asked, confused. He was relatively sure she'd told him she didn't know many people in New York. It was strange that she would have managed to find a boyfriend after only being in the US for a week.

"No," she said quickly. "Just..." she frowned again and ran her hand nervously through her hair,

" _Rose! There you are!"_

 **Well? Who is it? Who could Rose possibly be spending her time off with?**


	5. Chapter 5

_Previously:_

 _She frowned at him for a moment. "I – " she closed and opened her mouth several times, which he watched, mildly amused. "There's someone I –" she tried again, and he wondered why she was stumbling over her words. "There's just someone I usually spend my days off with," she explained quickly, the words tumbling from her mouth with no control on her per. She tugged nervously on the seams of her sleeves._

" _Oh," he said, frowning dejectedly. "Boyfriend?" he asked, confused. He was relatively sure she'd told him she didn't know many people in New York. It was strange that she would have managed to find a boyfriend after only being in the US for a week._

" _No," she said quickly. "Just…" she frowned again and ran her hand nervously through her hair._

" _Rose! There you are!"_

John turned around to match a face with the voice, and blinked in surprise. The man was not someone he'd ever seen before, and there was something… _off_ …about him that John couldn't quite figure out. He wasn't what he would consider conventionally attractive. He looked to be in his forties, with short, cropped, black hair, rather large ears, a stern face, and a long nose. His eyes were large and wild and shinning with excitement and exhilaration. His leather coat billowed around him, and when he stopped next to them, his muscled build proud stance made him seem taller than he was, though John was certain he was a least a little bit taller than the man. Under his jacket was a maroon jumper, which covered the belt loops of his heavy looking black jeans. His feet were covered with utilitarian boots.

Overall, the man looked like a soldier.

John quickly looked over to Rose, whose face had gone from concerned to excited, a near mirror image of the other man's, and frowned.

"I've been calling," The hard looking man said to Rose in a distinctive northern accent, an annoyed frown on his face.

Rose rolled her eyes, but a wide smile spread on her lips. "No you haven't. I've been checkin' all morning."

The man frowned, and blinked in surprise, and he seemed to only just see John, who'd stepped closer to Rose out of instinct, feeling a nervousness and possessiveness he was certain he should not be allowed to feel. The man looked him and down before jutting his chin out and looking down his long nose at John. "Who's this, then?"

"Oh, sorry," Rose fumbled, looking at John uncomfortably. "Um, this is John Smith." He didn't understand she look gave the other man.

The man snorted a laugh, Rose's smile widened, and John was suddenly jealous that this strange, northern, bear of a bloke (who wasn't nearly as attractive as John, if he did say so himself), could extract such easy smiles from Rose when he had to work for each and every one. "Really?" the man laughed for a reason John didn't understand, and he felt himself very irritated with the conversation very quickly.

"Can you help you with something?" John asked irritably, not thinking as he reached to possessively wrap his arm around Rose's waist. He felt as though a bucket of ice water was being dumped over his head when Rose took a small step away from him, just out of his reach, and he was reminded that he wasn't her boyfriend.

He didn't even know _what_ he was to her.

John bit back a rude comment when he saw that it hadn't gone unnoticed by the other man, who was watching the two of them with a frown. His gaze made John shift uncomfortably, and a smirk pulled at the man's lips before he turned his blue eyes on Rose, who met his smirk by biting her lip, her eyes betraying excitement.

"We have a situation," the man, whose name John still didn't know, said to Rose, his smirk becoming a full, toothy grin.

"Do we?"

"Yeah," the man said. "Comin'?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Well, seein' as you're never gunna be able to sort it out without me, I don't have a choice, do I?" The words were neither bitter nor irritated, and John realized that she was glad, even relieved, that this mad had shown up.

The man said nothing and offered her his hand instead. John watched, dumbfounded, as she easily placed her hand in his larger one. Before they took off, she turned to John, and he got a full look at her expression. The mask of indifference she wore was gone, and she seemed to be biting her lip in excitement rather than nervousness. "I'll talk to you later, alright?" She said with a bright smile.

John blinked, unsure of what to do. "Yeah, alright." He finally replied.

She waved once and then they were off, running down the street as quickly as they could, hand in hand. He watched their backs as they went.

Confused, John walked slowly back towards his flat, hands tucked in his pockets. His breakfast with Rose had definitely gone well; they'd chatted amicably, he'd made her smile, she'd told him about her travels, he'd paid, and he was fairly certain that if the strange man hadn't shown up, she would have agreed to spend the day with him. He made his way into the flat and closed the door quietly behind him. He kicked off his trainers and threw off his jacket, handing it in the closet before moving to the couch and sitting heavily. It was still quite early in the day, not yet 11AM, and he wasn't sure what to do with his day.

He used the blanket he'd given Rose to warm his legs and reached for the telly remote on the coffee table. His arm froze in place when he saw the book that was still open on the small table, marking the page where Rose had stopped reading, presumably because she'd fallen asleep. He picked up the book and looked at the page before flicking through the pages, a frown on his face. Rose had gotten far into the book. It would have taken him at least three hours to get that far into the book, which meant for the average person (he didn't meant to sound conceited, but he was far from average) it would take at least five hours. Five hours, he mused, was about the amount of time he'd slept, and that he'd assumed Rose had slept. But if she'd read that much, she probably hadn't slept at all. He frowned and closed the book. He hadn't realized that when she'd said she didn't sleep much, she'd meant she didn't sleep at all.

He stood from the couch and brought the book to the bookshelf, carefully sliding it into its place. He ran his fingers over the spines of the books, grateful for the familiarity. He knew every book on this shelf backwards and forwards, and he knew every short story in the collection on Sherlock Holmes works. He wondered what had drawn Rose to this book in particular out of all the available choices. Many of the books were nonfiction, he understood that, but there were several more popular books on that shelf.

He shook his head at himself and went back to the couch, sitting down again and running his hand through his hair. He reached for the remote again and turned the tellie on, watching an American show he didn't know for the time being. His mind drifted back towards Rose and the man. He'd said there was a situation, perhaps he meant at work? Could that have been a Torchwood employee he hadn't met before? He considered calling Jack and asking, because if the man worked for Torchwood, Jack would know.

Maybe it was none of his business. Rose was free to hand out with whoever she wanted, after all, and they barely knew each other.

"What are you doing here?"

John looked over his shoulder and the back of the couch to see Jack looking at him in dismay. He quickly checked his watch and realized he'd completely zoned out and missed most of the day in his telly-induced haze. "What do you mean, 'what am I doing here'? I live here." He replied, confused.

Jack kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket before marching over to the living area and sitting down in his recliner, a confused look on his face as well. "I thought you'd be out with Rose. Or at least," he gave John a suggestive look, " _in_ with Rose," he waggled his eyebrows and inclined his head in the direction of John's bedroom.

John sighed and shrugged. "We had breakfast." He told Jack simply.

"And," urged Jack, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"And nothing," John shrugged again. "Something came up?"

Jack groaned. "Seriously, John? You couldn't take a few hours off work to spend time with the beautiful blonde that you're obviously in to?"

"Something came up for her," John amended.

Jack shot him a look. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," John replied, rolling his eyes. "Some bloke came up, told her he had a 'situation', and she took his hand and off they went." He explained concisely.

Jack blinked and frowned. "Who was the guy?"

"Don't know," John shrugged. "I thought he might be Torchwood, actually. I figured the 'situation' was work related."

Jack shook his head. "No, everyone was working today except Rose and Gwen. That's weird, I didn't think Rose knew anyone." He frowned and rubbed he jaw as he thought. "What did this guy look like?"

"About the same height as me, short hair, big ears, big nose, blue eyes." John described easily, remembering the man's distinctive features.

Jack pulled a confused face. "Never seen anyone like that before." He was silent for a few moments before he raised his eyes to meet John's. "You're sure neither of them said his name?" He confirmed.

"Positive," John grumbled.

Jack frowned again, letting out a huff of air. The two were silent again until Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "I want to try something," he said needlessly, hitting a number on his speed-dial and pressing the speakerphone button so John could hear as well.

" _Hello?"_ Rose's breathless voice.

" _Really? You answered?"_ Came the stranger's voice, sounding muffled and breathless as well. _"We're…doing this and you answered your bloody phone?"_

" _It's my boss,"_ Rose retorted. _"Sorry, hi Jack."_

"You alright, Rose?" Jack asked, meeting John's wide eyes with his own surprised expression, cocking an eyebrow and glancing down at the phone suggestively.

" _Yeah,"_ Rose replied, sounding confused. _"Why wouldn't I be?"_ Her question was punctuated by the man laughing on the other end. _"Shut up, you,"_ That was Rose's voice, but she let out a chuckle herself. _"Sorry. Jack, can I call you back in five minutes?"_

" _Ten minutes,"_ the man amended.

" _We're that far? Blimey. Ten minutes, Jack?"_

"Alright. Don't have too much fun without me," Jack grinned.

" _Wouldn't dream of it,"_ Rose laughed before hanging up the phone.

The two men exchanged a look of surprise. "Rose might have a boyfriend," Jack said unhelpfully.

John sunk into the couch, suddenly feeling rather miserable. Could Rose really have a boyfriend she hadn't told him about? Granted, she obviously wasn't the most open person he'd ever met, but he thought she would have told him. He remembered how he'd reached for her waist earlier and buried his face in his hands with a loud groan, ignoring Jack's amused glanced.

"You want tea? Tea always make you feel better," Jack offered, awkwardly patting John's shoulder as he stood from his chair and walked towards the small kitchen.

"Ta," John replied gratefully.

Jack made the tea in silence, waiting by the stove for the water to boil rather than to return to his seat to join John in his misery. His mind returned to Rose and the strange man she'd apparently run off with. From his accent, he was definitely not American, so probably not someone Rose had met during her short time in New York. He was also curious about what John had said about her taking this man's hand. He'd noticed how Rose avoided physical contact – she'd practically been oozing tension when John had stitched up her arm, and he'd known it wasn't only because she'd been getting stitches. He stirred in the ridiculous amount of sugar John liked and handed the steaming cup to his roommate, who smiled thinly at him. As Jack had expected when he'd been so excited to introduce them, John was ass-over-elbows for Rose already. His stomach churned when he considered the possibility of the disappointed he'd apparently set up John for.

Jack's phone ringing made them both jump, and John hissed when boiling water splashed on his hand.

Jack hit the accept button and then the speaker button. "Hello?" He answered tensely.

" _It's me. Sorry about that, was in a bit of a bind. What's up, Jack?" Rose said quickly, sounding as though she'd caught her breath._

"Just wanted to make sure you were alright." Jack said, frowning at the phone. "John told me what happened today,"

"' _Course I'm all right,"_ Rose sounded confused. _"Ran into a friend, that's all."_

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Sounded like a bit more than a friend, according to John," he told her.

A few seconds ticked by in silence. _"What do you want me to say, Jack?"_ She asked, sounded defeated.

Jack watched as John deflated into the cushions of the couch and clicked the speakerphone off before bringing the phone to his ear. "I want you to tell me the truth," Jack replied, standing from his recliner and heading into his bedroom, closing the door quietly.

" _The truth about what?"_

"About whoever this guy is," Jack snapped.

More silence.

" _What does it matter?"_ Rose asked, sounding irritated. _"How does this affect you at all?"_

" _Rose, have you got my screwdriver?"_ The man's voice sounded distant.

" _No,"_ Rose replied, her voice muffled, and Jack realized she must be covering the speaker with her hand. _"Have you checked your pockets?"_ the man's reply was too muffled for him to hear, but he heard Rose sigh before she uncovered the speaker. _"Tell me, Jack, does it really matter who it is?"_

"Of course it does," Jack answered quickly, looking at his door and knowing that John was in the same position he'd left him in. "We're friends. Why won't you tell me?"

He heard Rose hold her breath for a few seconds before she let out a heavy sigh. _"Jack, you're the kindest friend I've had in years."_ She said, her voice ringing with honesty, and he thought he heard the man let out an annoyed grunt, which Rose ignored. He heart a muffled argument on the other end before the speaker was uncovered again, and this time a new voice came through.

" _Care to tell me why Rose is covered in stitches?"_ A gruff northern voice demanded.

" _It's not his fault, he wasn't even there,"_ he heard Rose say.

" _He should have been,"_ the man snapped back at her.

He didn't hear what Rose said next, or the exchange the two had before the phone changed hands. _"Look, Jack, now's not a good time. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"_ Rose suddenly sounded very tired, and Jack frowned.

"You're sure you're alright?" He asked her quietly, worried.

" _I'm always alright,"_ Rose promised quietly. _"Thanks, Jack."_ And she hung up.

 **Well? Answer me truthfully now, was anyone expecting that?  
** **I didn't want to give too much away before, but we're not operating in an all-human universe - remember, Torchwood is still investigating aliens!**

 **Remember to let me know what you though by reviewing! Thanks to everyone whose stuck with me so far!**


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